


The Night Train to Paris

by Seiberwing



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: F/F, Flirting, French, French Characters, Language Kink, World War II, papa bear award
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiberwing/pseuds/Seiberwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marya and Tiger have two very different ideas of how to cope with the war. Winner of the 2014 Papa Bear Award for "Best Slash Story".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Train to Paris

Tiger stared out the window at the passing flickers of the spiky, shadowy German forest. She was huddled up in a worn skirt borrowed from an underground woman and a tattered jacket borrowed from the woman’s unwitting father. The hat had been stolen from a beer garden in the spur of the moment to hide her face and the shoes had passed through four other owners before they’d fallen to her. None of the pieces matched—matched each other, anyway, they matched Tiger fine. Ever since the Nazis marched into Paris she’d been living her life in ragged bits and pieces, constantly in transit and on edge, answering more readily to Tiger than her real name. While everyone else in the train car enjoyed a pleasant ramble across the countryside a small part of her mind constantly stood on edge in case the driver came to ask for a ticket she’d never bought.

There had been one cold evening in a Heidelburg farmhouse when her contacts had gone around in a circle, naming the first thing they’d do after the war was over. Kiss their wives, have a glass of wine, eat a full dinner, stand on a rooftop and sing La Marseillaise at the top of their lungs. The first thing Tiger would do after the festivities died down would be to get a full night’s peaceful sleep.

“Why such a sad face?” The reflection of Marya, bound up in amber furs and perfect makeup, moved against the translucent forest. “I thought you’d love going home, dahling.” The Russian spy brought out her ebony cigarette holder and began twisting a far too expensive cigarette into it. She smiled as a telephone pole crossed her face in the window. Easy for her to smile, thought Tiger, her country was safe and sound.

Tiger turned away from the window. “It’s not home anymore,” she said, voice soft and cold with regret. “It won’t be home until those filthy boche are gone, just a shadow of itself.” At least when she was away she could still hold Paris pure and shining in her mind. Having to see the reality of her desecrated homeland in person would make the pain far worse.

“We’ll make the shadow a bit brighter, at least. You can’t pretend to be my aide if you dress like that.” The Russian sighed at the air, giving the cigarette another firm twist. “We’ll find you some nice dresses, we’ll go to the hairdresser, get makeup, it’ll be a day out on the town. Just us girls.” She gave Tiger a friendly nudge that nearly cracked the Frenchwoman’s head against the window.

“We are meeting a German spy,” Tiger scolded after she’d caught her balance again. If the Russian played this rough, she didn’t want to know how she fought. No wonder they were winning the Eastern Front. “We don’t have time to go playing dress-up like little girls.”

“On a German general’s budget? It’s practically a contribution to the war effort to spend his money.” Marya ran her hand over Tiger’s thigh, tracing over several patches of soil and grass stains on her rough skirt. “You’ll feel so much better once you’re dressed for high society,” she soothed. “It always does it for me.”

Tiger was starting to get the impression that a lot of things ‘did it’ for the eccentric Russian. 

“The high society of the Germans,” she said sternly. “And secretaries aren’t high society. I'll be there as your servant."

“You’re so depressing, Tiger.” Marya lit her cigarette, pouting like a child who’d be told she couldn’t have a third sweet. ‘You’re French. You should be passionate and full of life.” Her cigarette inscribed hazy circles in the air as she waved it about.

“Si j’étais si passionnée que vous, je serais accusée de collaboration,1” Tiger spat, frustrated back into her native tongue.

Marya smiled and shivered, as if Tiger had said something particularly moving rather than accusing her of interfaction indiscretions. “Mmm. I love hearing French. It’s so much more beautiful than German. I mean, it’s not Russian, but it has its own flair.” She flicked her hand dismissively at the door to the train car’s hallway. “You have Froy-lein, and then you have Mad-mwa-zel.” She said the former in an irritating, nasal tone, then made a wide circle with her fingertips as she savored the syllables of the latter. “Talk more to me, Tiger darling.”

“Vous êtes une femme extrêmement étrange, et je n’ai aucune idée comment vous avez reussi à devenir une espionne.2” This brought another shiver from the Russian and she leaned against Tiger’s shoulder with an expression of ecstasy. 

“Don’t you speak French?” Tiger added in bemusement, trying to wiggle out from under the larger woman.

“Bits and pieces, darling, but it’s not the same without the accent.” Marya nudged her shoulder with the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder. Her furs felt soft and warm against Tiger’s thin jacket. “Again.”

“Avez-vous l’intention de prendre meme une partie de cette mission au sérieuse?3” Marya didn’t seem to take the entire war seriously.

Marya gave up a soft groan and stretched upward to nuzzle Tiger’s cheek, then further back to rest her head against the French agent’s chest. Tiger stared at her, feeling the Russian’s thick jasmine perfume overwhelming her as Marya cupped her head in both hands. “Strong features,” she noted. “I’m sure you’ve got the best kind of bumps on your head.” The tips of her exquisitely manicured thumbs caressed Tiger’s cheeks before she leaned in to engulf the French agent in a deep kiss. The jasmine perfume went from strong to stifling. Tiger gasped, finding she could barely breathe with Marya’s weight on her chest and her warm hands gently but firmly holding her head still. 

As calmly as she’d come, Marya slid back and sat facing away from Tiger, lighting her cigarette. From behind she looked a massive pile of fur, which seemed apt to Tiger, who felt as if she’d just been run over by a large Russian bear.

“...Quois?” she managed after a few moments of stunned staring.

“The war is long and life is short.” Marya slipped the cigarette holder between her lips, seeming to find no other explanation necessary. She twisted around and laid her fur-hatted head in Tiger’s lap. “By the way, since you slipped onto the train without a ticket, we’ve only got one bunk between the two of us. You’re quite free to sit out here all night, but where would the fun be in that?”

Marya smiled, and Tiger wondered if there was a set of fangs hiding beneath her painted lips.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 “If I was as passionate as you, I’d be accused of collaborating.”  
> 2 “You are a very strange woman and I have no idea how you became a spy.”  
> 3"Do you have the intention of taking even one part of this mission seriously?”


End file.
